Scritch Scratch, on the Floor
by columbine-and-asphodel
Summary: Shelter!AU. Puppy!Steve (a doberman pinscher) befriends with Cat!Danny (a Japanese bobtail). But human!Steve&Danny appear, too. Total fluff. More information/links at the AO3 version of this.


In which, through a mistake in his past life, Danny is a moorhen, the 'aumakua for the McGarrett family, but for Steve in particular.

* * *

He was five the first time he saw it. The island's weather had taken an unexpected change for the worst, and the a bright, sunny day had rapidly become a storm of near-monsoon proportions.

Steve was outside, playing with his Navy SEALs which might have started life as G.I. Joes but absolutely were no longer, when he heard his mother shout for him to come inside immediately. Her voice quivered, telling him this was _important,_ so Steve rushed to obey her, toys left to their business by the water.

The moment he got inside, his mother grabbed him and told him a big storm was coming and that he needed to stay inside, but Steve didn't want to stay inside. His SEALs were still outside, and Dad had told him that no matter what, you never leave a man behind. He _had_ to get them.

He would have argued further, but his father had overheard them and come into the room. With an expression half-proud, half-terrifying, he made Steve promise to stay inside, toys be damned. Sometimes you couldn't save everyone. Sometimes you had to make sacrifices.

... which was why Steve was standing by the back door, trying to tell where his toys were despite the wind-whipped rain and sudden darkness as his his childish mind struggled to balance the instinct to obey his parents with the need to dash through the downpour, save his men and get back inside- preferably without getting caught, but he'd bear the punishment of getting caught if he had to, because none of _his _men were sacrifices. He'd taken them out, so he was going to get them to safety. If only his mom and dad weren't watching...

A loud crack had caught his parents' attention, and as they ran to check the house, Steve decided that it was now or never. He threw the door open and was about to head out, only to stop short.

Standing before him, eyes locked on his own, was a baby moorhen, its feathers sleek from the rain.

It made no move to enter the house, merely stood on the lāna'i and watched him, waiting just beyond Steve's reach.

When he tried to walk past it, however, its eyes narrowed and it let out a horrendous screech so loud Steve thought his eardrums would burst, but the moment he stopped to clap his hands over his ears, it stopped.

Steve gratefully dropped his hands so he could run to his men.

The moorhen, once more, refused to let him pass, its screech somehow louder than before and its eyes narrowed angrily.

"Please," Steve pleaded, hands over his ears again, "please let me go. I have to get my SEALs... I have to protect them!" The bird's horrible call came to an end, and as Steve eyed it, it cocked its head as if listening to him. To his child's mind, it had to be. "We- we have something called, 'No man left behind,' and it means we have to take care of each other. I can't be a good leader if I leave them out there!" The bird's head remained cocked, but it made no move to leave him. "Please!"

For a moment, Steve was afraid the bird would attack him, its body trembling and its beak clicking together like a human clicking his jaw.

Instead, it settled, let its gaze fall heavily on him, then dashed across the property.

Steve lost track of it quickly, the dark clouds and heavy rain hiding it from him, but he knew not to follow. The moorhen wasn't a normal moorhen; it was special. He had to wait for it to return, so Steve sat down, the wind and rain falling into the house and hitting him as he stood watch for the bird.

A loud crack startled him, as did the crash of a tree falling close by. The house was safe, but Steve could just make out the lines of a large, dark shape by the beach. Even in his small, child's mind, he knew that he would have been there, that the tree would have fallen on him, and it made his heart beat loudly in his ears, his vision blurring for a moment as he realized that if he'd disobeyed his mother or ignored the moorhen, he'd be...

Frustrated and worried, he began to fiddle with one of the many buttons on his shorts. He wondered about the bird, if it had gotten caught and needed someone to help it, when he saw something red flash in front of him.

Standing before him on the lāna'i was the moorhen, a pile of soaked and dirty SEALs at its feet. There was pride in its stance as it watched Steve reverently gather up his soldiers and pull them to his chest, and when a few relieved tears slid down his face, the bird nodded.

"Thank you," Steve mumbled, still teary-eyed and grateful.

Deep in his belly, where all little children knew things and sometimes, if they listened, adults would feel them, something twisted. He was right to thank the moorhen, but he hadn't done it correctly. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, though, so he continued to stand in the doorway, the storm raging and crackling outside, until his belly told him something else.

"Mahalo nui loa," Steve whispered, carefully setting his toys down just inside the door.

He bent over so he could hug the odd bird, but his mother's voice stopped him.

"Steven! What are you doing?" she shouted, terrified, as she dashed across the room and slammed the door shut.

"I was thanking the bird, Mama," he protested. "But now you shut the door, so I can't."

"Bird?" she echoed, ignoring what he'd said about the door. "Stevie, there was no bird. It was just you with the door open."

"Yes, there was!" Steve insisted. "He wouldn't let me go outside, but when I told him about not leaving anyone and that I couldn't be in command if I didn't take care of them, he went and got them for me! I was waiting here, because I knew he wouldn't want me to follow him. He made a really loud noise, like... like a train!"

At a loss, Doris McGarrett looked down at her son, whose shirt was soaked as he clutched his toys and adamantly swore he hadn't left the house. She could see from the set of his jaw that he wasn't going to change his story, a trait she refused to admit was hers as much as it was her husband's, so she waved him deeper into the room with a sigh.

"Go change into something dry. I don't want you to get a cold. And don't let your father see you!"

Steve nodded and turned on his heel, SEALs held close as he dashed up the stairs.

He didn't know that, as he made his way to the bathroom, the storm crashing around the house, his mother watched him go, perplexed that while the front of her son was soaked, his back was perfectly dry.

* * *

Twenty nine years later, Steve is a battle-proven Navy SEAL with scars and medals to prove it. He has commendations from every superior who's led him and every comrade who's served with him. He's been in terrible places and done terrible things, and he's survived it all, come back harder and more driven.

He has also forgotten about the odd moorhen and the storm, but he's never left a man behind.

At present, he's working with Naval Intelligence, tracking the Hesse brothers, two Irishmen who've made a name for themselves in black market arms deals. They dabble in other illegal operations, as well, but for Victor and Anton Hesse, selling weapons to anyone and everyone who has the cash is their primary function. They're good at it, too, more intelligent and ruthless than most everyone else the Navy has seen; they're certainly the most successful.

It's taken them years, but they've finally captured Anton, the younger brother in South Korea, the man now sitting in a Humvee, directly across the Humvee from Steve, who can see that the younger, smaller man isn't bothered by the presence of so many soldiers. If anything, he's relaxed, eyes holding Steve's gaze and smirking as trees and tall grass rush by them.

At some point, Steve had missed something.

He's been feeling it the past few months, a sense of wrongness that's only grown stronger the closer he's gotten to capturing the brothers. He's willing to admit it's most likely an echo of the dreams he's been having, the ones that are little more than darkness and a mournful cry he can't quite place but knows isn't human. It wakes him in the middle of the night and leaves him sick to his stomach, drenched with sweat and a nameless terror on his mind.

"You know what's funny?" Anton asks, disrupting Steve's train of thought. "You don't look Hawaiian."

Steve's eyes narrow. "You're going to tell us everything-"

"But you were born there, weren't you?"

The oblique threat made, Steve lets it roll off his back; he's more than familiar with his past being brought up. Perhaps if he had stronger ties to it, if there were people actively praying for his return, he'd be more upset, but all he has are ghosts. Anton can bluster all he'd like; it doesn't mean a thing.

"- about the terrorist cell you and your brother helped arm," Steve continues. "Every supplier you armed, all your trafficking associates, everyone you've ever sold weapons to."

"You chased my brother and I around the world for years, like a little doggy with a bone- you don't think we'd do our homework on you?" Anton sneers, unimpressed.

Steve's phone rings, and when he pulls it free, everything falls apart.

Victor Hesse is in Hawaii and has Steve's father, but he'll trade him for Anton, an offer Victor knows Steve can't- _won't_- accept.

When he speaks, Steve's father doesn't say anything that makes sense. He goes on about lies and how sorry he is. He tells Steve he wishes he'd been better about telling him how proud he is. He even calls Steve champ, a nickname he'd never used before.

The convoy is suddenly struck from the air, and everything becomes a whirl of survival, forgetting about the phone and trying to keep Anton alive and within sight.

Steve loses him, though, and for a moment, he's faced with a choice: die or shoot Anton.

That day, it's Anton who dies, and Victor knows.

In the single moment, between Victor's accusing, "Isn't he?" and his declaration, "Then so's your father," Steve hears another sound. It's the same one he's heard in his nightmares, but louder, more real. For the long second it takes Victor to squeeze the trigger, a mournful shriek fills Steve's ears and grows in volume until it's all he can hear.

A harsh sound rips across the line, ending both the horrifying scream and his father's life.

* * *

Steve doesn't pay attention to the funeral. He sister isn't there- which doesn't surprise him, given how her last conversation with their father had gone- and they've no other family, not with his mother dead and no one on the mainland who can make it. HPD does well, though. Jack McGarrett is laid to rest as the hero he'd been, and that's really all Steve had wanted.

He hadn't expected Governor Jameson to speak to him, and while he's honored, he isn't prepared to take on a taskforce, or even remain in Hawaii longer than necessary. He wants to look over the evidence from his father's house, find out who HPD's put on the case and find Victor.

What he'll do after that entirely depends on the Irishman, but he has a feeling it won't be making an arrest.

The conversation with Chin Ho leaves Steve frustrated and angry. The department had given his father a fitting burial, but won't putting in the effort to find the man who did it. One man isn't enough, and one mainlander definitely won't be able to do it.

As he goes over everything, the question of why this guy's all Steve's dad is getting gnaws at him, but he pushes it aside in favor of going to the house and doing his own sweep.

Finding evidence isn't difficult, and it doesn't take long for him to realize that forensics is missing important information. There are fingerprints that haven't been collected, ones where fingerprints shouldn't be, along with spaces cleared that HPD wouldn't have found important. He knows it isn't their fault, that they don't know his dad the way he does, but the idea of not checking everywhere bothers him. What else have they missed? Are they truly competent? Is it deliberate? Why aren't they _doing something_? Compounded with the one man investigation, Steve's inclined to give more credence to the theory that something's going on beneath the surface.

The basement hasn't changed since the last time he'd been down. The old Marquis he and his old man had started to fix up is still there, the tools still hanging in their usual places, but it isn't until he pulls the tarp back and sees the car again that it really hits him.

His father's dead. He's just... gone.

Steve and Mary are alone now, both parents somewhere neither of them can find. Their family photos from now on will just be of the siblings, no Mom or Dad to demand that they behave, to remind them that Mary is not to bite Steve and Steve isn't allowed to punch her. If they smile, it's because they think they should, not because the man and woman beside them have bribed them with shave ice or an extended curfew.

Neither of them will ever hear Jack McGarrett's voice or see his face again, and that, the idea that all he has of his father are memories and old photos, is what knocks Steve over. He has to take a moment and close his eyes, the tears he hadn't felt before finally making themselves known.

Steve hurriedly moves on, his moment for sentiment over.

Finding what his father had been trying to tell him is easy. The unfamiliar nickname, champ, is written on the front of an old toolbox, one that catches Steve's eye, because that alone, among the belongings in this time-capsule, is different.

What isn't easy, is leaving with it.

He's hunting through the box, examining the contents, lost in the sound of his father's voice, when he hears a door slam.

The contents and the lid have barely returned to their previous state when a man walks in.

Steve's weapon comes up immediately, matching the gun the newcomer has pointed at him.

It takes him a moment- mainly because the guy's hackles are so high up they must be part of the elaborate ritual required to get his hair to look like_ that_, but also because Steve is struck by a wave of _knowing_ him- but Steve manages to get control of himself and the situation. Mostly.

There's no way that he- Danny Williams, HPD- is going to let him keep the box, which isn't what Steve wants him to say, but hearing that the man working the case has paid enough attention to notice that it isn't Steve's (admittedly not a difficult feat, given the massive rectangular area missing dust) and is scrupulous enough not to care that the son of the deceased wants it, is comforting, if somewhat tempered by Danny's belligerent attitude.

Steve likes it, though. He likes the promise of an ambulance, and the furious expression on the guy's face when Steve is sworn in and takes control of case is gratifying.

The whole way to the precinct, Steve contemplates the mainlander cop whose first real words were his condolences.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Steve to meet with Danny's captain, Mano Akanu. It takes even less time to feel that he isn't being told everything.

"So why is there only one man investigating my father's death- the death of an upstanding policeman who served for his entire life? And why is this one man a haole?" he asks as civilly as he can. So far as he can tell, Akanu's just as frustrated as he is, but that isn't helping him get what he wants.

"Orders from above, Commander. I wanted to set up a taskforce within HPD- yes, Governor Jameson's been talking about making one for quite some time now, and I'd thought this would be a good time to start it- but someone up top didn't want that, said the haole would do."

"And that's it?" Steve demands.

"That's it. Look, McGarrett. Whatever movies and TV might have people believe, the number of rogue cops is tiny, nearly nonexistent. We get orders and we follow them. Sometimes they're vague, and sometimes they're explicit. It doesn't matter. It isn't our place to question the people with the power to fire and hire, not when it's a murder committed by a man we've identified and who isn't on a spree." Akanu shakes his head. "As much as I want to get this Hesse guy- and I do, McGarrett, because he got one of _my _people- HPD's gets too many cases to handle on a good week. We're spread out too far as it is."

"So you don't want to waste the cops you know can solve cases and decided you'd let some foreigner do it."

The captain sighs. "It isn't the slap in the face you're thinking, McGarrett. He's good at the job."

"Good? That's it? He's good? My father was on the force for-"

"I am well aware of how long Jack served. That's part of why the haole's on his case. Too many of these guys knew him. They'd get stuck on a personal mission, let it cloud their judgement."

"And that's enough to put some guy who doesn't know the islands in charge? Is he even any good?"

"If you believe his file- which I do, judging by the number of cases _I _have seen him close- he is. Honestly? He'd probably be the best if it weren't for his attitude."

Steve's eyes narrow.

"His attitude?"

"I've never seen somebody so obsessed with being a haole."

"So why's he here, if he doesn't like the islands?"

"Haven't got a clue, McGarrett. He moved here a few months back, but nobody knows why. He's got no family here and a good record back in Jersey, but something- and there _is _something, no matter what he says- brought Danny Williams to Hawai'i." Sighing, Akanu leaned back in his chair. "You knows what bothers me about him? He could be one of the best in homicide- the force, even- but he's just too stubborn, doesn't want to understand the island way."

There's a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips, despite the harsh words, that catches Steve's interest.

"No worries, Lieutenant Commander. I'm sure you'll learn all there is to know about our new haole. Williams' partner will be sad to see him go, but even Meka, the only guy who hasn't threatened to slit Jersey's throat, can only take so much. HPD may actually be able to go back to a time when a one man race war wasn't a problem."

"One man race war? Wait. What do you mean, his partner will miss him?"

The look he gets is tolerant, like a parent looking at his dim son.

"You aren't looking at a man who's quiet, and definitely not one who keeps to himself. Williams has gotten under a lot of people's skins, nearly started a riot in here the other day when he and another officer got into it about procedure, of all things." Shaking his head at the memory, the captain sits up. "And I mean that Officer Hanamoa will miss him, because I know you're going to make Williams _your_ partner."

He's right, so Steve doesn't waste time denying it. He's lucky to have gotten this much from Danny's superior; precincts can be like brotherhoods, so tightly knit they won't divulge anything about the others for anything short of the strongest-worded court order, but it seems the haole's distaste for island hasn't won him a place in his coworkers' good graces.

"Thank you, Captain Akanu. If I could just get a copy of Williams' files- his transfer papers, case notes, personnel file, the works- I'll be out of your hair."

* * *

It's true that living in Hawaii's expensive, but even from a distance, Steve knows the place is horrible, just as he knows Danny- Williams is too impersonal for a partner, haole undoubtedly offensive now, partner too forward just yet and he _had_ introduced himself as Danny Williams, HPD- will open the door for him. He won't be happy about it, will probably feel threatened having a dominant man see his poor lifestyle, but he'll do it.

Steve quickly discovers the fast talking from their first meeting isn't a permanent feature. The words come slowly, as close to a drawl as a northerner can manage, in place of the tense, rapid overflow, but now have a mocking edge. Even without the previous rush, Danny's still most the vocal person Steve has ever met. The man has something to say to everything. He makes his displeasure known, throws a few sharp comments his way and snaps when Steve brings up the man's daughter. His body is surprisingly still, though. Steve had thought he'd have to ask Danny to stay still, figuring a motor mouth would equal a need for constant movement, and is surprised to discover that Danny is actually unnaturally still. He doesn't move to intercept Steve as he takes a look around, seems hardly willing to do anything beyond a few gestures, the usual nervous tells absent.

At the mention of Jack's case, however, Danny's expression closes down, anger bubbling beneath his skin, and that's the moment Steve decides he's the right guy. A man who cares about his cases, who doesn't want them taken from him or people walking on him and isn't useless outside his comfort zone... He's what Steve needs right now, if he's going to head a civilian squad and catch Victor. It will take some time to break him in, mold him to suit Steve better, but he's confident in Danny's ability to adapt. Hawaii will grow on Danny, as he figures out how to follow Steve's lead.

* * *

/hr

One dead lead and a hostile partner later, Steve realizes he'd been wrong about Danny.

Danny isn't less dominant than him. The size difference had made it seem that way, but Danny being more verbal than physical shouldn't have made Steve underestimate the northerner. He's smart and knows it, doesn't need Steve's approval or follow his orders without complaint. Being a Lieutenant Commander and technically outranking Danny had disappeared the moment he'd made Danny his partner. They're a team, not a superior tied to an eager-to-please underling. Ranks disregarded, Danny's clearly not the meek kind of guy. He'll call Steve out at whatever volume he feels necessary, regardless of where they are and who's around to hear. He hadn't waited for them to be alone to bring up saving Steve's life- which is closer to the reason Steve had snapped at him, being indebted to a _civilian_, not the finger in his face or the reminder of his father- and he hadn't been cowed by Steve's own anger. There hadn't been a trace of worry on Danny's face. He'd had something to say, and he'd said it.

He doesn't pull his punches, either, and that's... That's not something Steve had expected. Anger, yes, resentment and resistance, probably, even some contempt, but never outright physical confrontation.

Now they're in the car and the silence had slipped past uncomfortable a few minutes back. Steve's never had difficulty with silence before. It gives him space to think and do his own thing. He likes it, usually, but right now, he's finding it worrisome. Danny hasn't looked at him since punching him, too busy pouring his attention into driving along an empty road with the kind of vigilance better suited to driving somewhere with actual obstacles. His mouth may be biting his cheek, but it's hard to tell.

His eyes are narrowed, his jaw set forcefully, as he makes a right turn, forced to look in Steve's direction, but he doesn't actually look at him and is _still _showing no signs of acknowledging Steve's existence. It's frustrating. Danny's supposed to _pay attention_ to him. He was earlier- negative attention, sure, but attention nonetheless- but now, when he's worked up and obviously upset, he's lost his voice.

Which leaves things up to Steve. He can leave them as they are and search for another partner now he's used up Danny's knowledge of the case, or he can do something to crack the frigid atmosphere in the car and keep Danny.

It isn't an easy decision.

He'd liked the man on sight, and what he'd liked then hasn't changed. They aren't getting along now, but they may later, once Steve's regained control (His father's death, the time capsule he'd found in place of his home, the taskforce... The entire situation has him off-kilter. It isn't the best reason, nor the one to share with his partner, but it's true). There's the risk of the replacement being less tolerant than Danny (Steve hadn't realized it earlier, but as he ponders the man beside him, he can't not see it. Most people wouldn't have let Steve off with a few sharp words or a single punch. Danny's definitely prickly, but he has a surprisingly good hold on his temper. He hadn't swung until after Steve had grabbed him, after all). Plus, for a guy without special training, he's a crack shot, too. Switching would mean running the risk of trading someone who's got good aim for someone worse.

Steve doesn't count the feeling of already knowing Danny as a reason for them to stick together, nor does he let the sick feeling in his gut at the thought of not having Danny as his partner have any say in his decision.

The longer he thinks about it, the more Steve realizes he doesn't want to try this with someone else.

He has to be sure, though. Danny's talents (the feelings that _aren't_ relevant) won't mean anything if things remain as they are. He may like Danny, but if Danny doesn't like him...

Everything rides on this angry, frustrated man warming to him. If he does, they may have a shot at doing things right, but if he doesn't, they'll both grow bitter and resent each other.

The silence isn't working.

"How's the arm?" isn't the best start, but it gets Danny to look at him, which is something.

The looking-something is quickly followed by the


End file.
